


The Hostage

by Mandaloria593



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cliffhangers, Episode: s02e08 The Rescue, Gen, Hostage Situations, Hurt Din Djarin, Torture, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28795761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandaloria593/pseuds/Mandaloria593
Summary: “Thisis where it's going. You’re going to get me off this ship, safely, away from Bo-Katan. And then, I will allow you to take the child, and we will go our separate ways.”
Relationships: Din Djarin & Moff Gideon
Comments: 25
Kudos: 78





	1. Rescue Diverted

**Author's Note:**

> When watching the finale, I thought something like this might happen, and then I couldn't get it out of my head. So I'm sharing the whumpage with you. This chapter ends on an absolutely _evil_ cliffhanger, but I promise a happy ending for the story as a whole.

“I see your bond with him,” Moff Gideon said, lowering the Darksaber from where he held it dangerously close to Grogu. “Take him.”

It was too good to be true. But Din wasn’t going to wait and risk the offer being retracted. He started crossing the cell towards Grogu, already desperate to remove the glowing cuffs from his tiny wrists. 

Din’s path was suddenly blocked by the Darksaber suspended at his knees. _Dank farrik!_ He knew there’d be a catch. “Where is this going?” Din demanded of Gideon.

Gideon replied with cool detachment, _“This_ is where it's going. You’re going to get me off this ship, safely, away from Bo-Katan. And then, I will allow you to take the child, and we will go our separate ways.”

Din sucked in a breath. This wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to rendezvous with the others on the bridge. But could he pass up an opportunity to free Grogu? Grogu was his _only_ priority, and Gideon was offering him a chance to save him right now. Yet there were any number of ways this could go south.

Din must have been taking too long to respond, because Gideon spoke again. “I see you are hesitating. Surprising. But I’ll make this easy on you, Din Djarin.” And then, without lowering the Darksaber, Gideon knelt down just low enough to pick up Din’s blaster from where it landed at his feet when Din had kicked it over. Gideon moved the muzzle of the blaster to Grogu’s head. 

Din jerked forward, nearly cutting off his own legs as he got perilously close to the blade impeding his path to Grogu.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Gideon scolded. “Do as I say, and I will not harm him. Refuse, and…” Gideon hefted the Darksaber again so that _two_ deadly weapons were aimed threateningly at Grogu. 

“Fine,” Din said, his voice clipped. He knew a hostage situation when he saw one. He remembered getting Grogu out of the last situation by giving the hunter his jetpack and then activating it so that the hunter was dropped from a high enough point to knock him out. This wasn’t going to be so easy. 

Din backed up slowly towards the door. Gideon powered down the Darksaber and clipped it to his belt, but kept the blaster trained on Grogu. He retrieved a small black container from a pocket on his uniform and placed it on the bench. He opened it, and lifted up a hypospray. 

“What’s that,” Din demanded flatly. He suspected he knew exactly what the hypospray contained.

As Gideon pressed the hypospray to Grogu’s neck, Grogu’s eyes sought out Din pleadingly. 

“I’m sorry, kid,” Din mouthed voicelessly, wincing. He was forced to watch helplessly as Grogu’s eyes fluttered shut against his will. The small form toppled over.

Gideon promptly scooped Grogu up, blaster trained on him at point-blank range. Gideon nodded towards the door. “Let’s go, Djarin. Honor your end of the bargain, and I’ll honor mine.”

Din highly doubted that, but he bit his cheek to stop from saying so. Instead, he turned and exited the cell. Gideon followed him. 

Din briskly headed back the way he came. Gideon’s presence at his back was suffocating. Din’s mind raced to think of a ploy that would get Grogu out of the imp’s hands _before_ they wound up alone on a shuttle with him. Yes, he’d used his only salvo, as Gideon had pointed out, but he wasn’t unarmed. As he began a mental inventory of his remaining weapons, Gideon spoke as they reached a fork in the corridor. “Your compatriots blocked the main departure tube. We’ll take the secondary one.”

Warily, Din proceeded down the unfamiliar corridor. He moved cautiously, worried that Gideon had selected a route that would place a squadron of troopers in his path. 

“Hurry up, Djarin,” Gideon snapped, pressing the muzzle of the blaster harder against Grogu’s unconscious form.

Din’s chest clenched, and he pressed onward, increasing his speed to a jog. Gideon kept pace, evidently keen to avoid a confrontation with Bo-Katan.

They came to an unmarked door, and Gideon quickly tapped a code into the console, granting them access. He waited for Din to enter first.

Din stalked down the newly revealed corridor, which led to a small hangar with several ships. Gideon gestured to a sleek black shuttle, and Din boarded first. He slid into the pilot’s seat and began preparing the ship for launch. He stole surreptitious glances at his side, where Gideon sat in the co-pilot’s seat, still aiming the blaster at Grogu. 

Making a distressed sound, Din yanked the reverse throttle back, carrying the shuttle out of the hangar and into the blackness of space. They were hailed immediately.

“Departing shuttle, identify yourself!”

It was Shand’s voice over the comm. 

“Identify yourself or prepare to be fired on!”

Din turned his helmet to Gideon, prompting for direction. 

“Tell them what you wish,” Gideon said neutrally. “It won’t change the fact that if you do allow them to fire upon this vessel, the first one of us to die will be the child here.”

“Unidentified shuttle--”

Din slammed the comms’ button. “It’s me. Don’t fire.”

“Mando? What are you doing?” Shand asked. 

“What’s happening?” Bo-Katan demanded over the same frequency. 

Din didn’t take his eyes off Gideon, who reactivated the Darksaber and brandished it over Grogu’s sleeping head. Din spoke haltingly into the receiver. “I have him. I’m leaving. I’m sorry.” And he was sorry, incredibly so. But his guilt was overshadowed by his need to do whatever it took to keep Grogu from harm.

“You have who?” Shand asked. “The kid?” 

“Or does he mean _Gideon?”_

The second voice was Bo-Katan’s. Din didn’t provide clarification. “Don’t fire,” he repeated. 

“Mando!”

Din released the receiver button, ending the transmission. Then he raised his palms to show Gideon that he wasn’t trying anything.

Gideon still held the blaster in one hand and the Darksaber in the other. “Keep them up,” he ordered. He tucked the blaster at his hip, and leaned over the console to enter hyperspace coordinates. He sat back and regarded Din. 

Din had no idea where the coordinates would take them. It couldn’t be anywhere good. But he was short on options and even shorter on time. Ignoring the blinking comms button, Din squeezed his eyes shut and engaged the hyperdrive. 

The jump was short. Mere minutes of tense silence. But Din used the precious time to plan. He still had his armor. And he had his grappling cord, his jetpack, vibroblade, two knives—thigh, wrist—and the spear. He couldn’t possibly move fast enough to wield the spear without telegraphing his intent before Gideon could make good on his threat to hurt Grogu. But if he launched the grappling line first, he might be able to slow him down long enough to slip the knife from his wrist and aim for something soft, maybe the man’s thigh...maybe his throat.

Din’s strategizing was interrupted by Gideon. “I know you’re devising a hundred ways to strike me down,’ Gideon stated calmly. “It’s all you know. You’re a killer. You have been, ever since they took you in among them. They raised you in the fighting core, trained you to slaughter, and set you upon the universe like releasing a rabid rancor on a herd of eopies. But now, it’s not just about you, is it?” Gideon unhurriedly swung the Darksaber through the air, drawing it frighteningly close to one of Grogu’s large ears. It hummed with deadly intent. “It was brave of you to throw my own words in my face...but in doing so, you’ve shown all your cards. You might be able to use one of your tricks to wound me, but hurting me isn’t your goal. Protecting _this one_ is. So ask yourself this, _Mandalorian,”_ and somehow Gideon spat the word like an insult, “Are your reflexes faster than this saber?” 

Instead of rising to the bait, Din said, “I honored my end of the bargain. It’s time for you to honor yours.“ Din was under no illusion that Gideon was going to let him and Grogu go peacefully. But he needed to ply more information out of him. 

“When we arrive at our destination, I will not stop you from leaving with the child. We will go our separate ways.”

Too vague to be helpful. And full of lies. But what could Din do? Grogu’s life hung in the balance. He didn’t know if Gideon was telling the truth about not needing any more of Grogu’s blood, but he wasn’t willing to stake Grogu’s life on it. 

“Before we arrive, however,” Gideon began, and Din knew the other boot was about to drop, “I’ll be needing you to remove that armor. You’re getting desperate. I can tell. It’s going to make you do something rash. Something you’ll regret. Something we’ll both regret.”

Din tensed in his seat. He made no move to comply. All of his plans hinged on being able to access the weapons hidden throughout his armor. He was considering crashing the ship on the closest planet to wherever they exited hyperspace, and in the confusion he’d make his move. 

Gideon held the Darksaber so close to Grogu that it began burning through the brown sleeve of his cloak. The air smelled bitter. Acrid. Grogu, still knocked out, didn’t flinch. But Din did.

“Wait!” Din insisted, raising his hands again. 

The Darksaber was repositioned, but only slightly. It hovered near one of Grogu’s small hands. “He could still live, prosper even, with two fingers on this hand instead of three. Is your creed worth his maiming?” Gideon moved the Darksaber back up towards Grogu’s head. “Do you think he’d understand if he lost an ear to preserve your dignity? His helmet might fit him better that way, when you raise him to follow in your bloody, war-mongering footsteps.”

Din couldn’t allow Grogu to be dismembered for his sake. He began unclipping his armor, unstrapping the connecting bands and, after taking a deep breath, prising off his vambraces. 

“Slowly,” Gideon warned.

Din slowed his movements, careful to advertise his intentions as he removed his armaments. 

“You may leave the helmet on,” Gideon said indifferently. “I have no interest in seeing your face.”

Din was relieved. He’d removed it on Morak, and he’d do it again, but he didn’t _want_ to. Not like this. Not for Gideon. He’d hoped the next time he took off his helmet would be for Grogu to see him and know his face. 

“Besides, I have already seen it.”

A chill ran up Din’s spine. His fingers, which had been undoing the rest of the cuirass straps, felt numb and unable to work properly inside his gloves. 

When Din turned warily to face him, Gideon was holding up a small datapad. The screen began to display black-and-white video footage of a familiar-looking mess hall. It was the Morak facility. On the small screen, Din recognized himself dressed in the imperial trooper uniform, speaking (or trying to speak) with Valin Hess and Mayfeld. Helmetless. “I told you before, Djarin: I see _everything._ When you used that data terminal to search out my coordinates to find me, _I_ was finding _you.”_

Din swallowed, disturbed.

“The security footage was transmitted directly to my light cruiser. Destroying that facility destroyed _nothing_ of your face’s permanent recording in the Empire’s archives. All you accomplished was giving me even more information.”

Did Gideon think he’d blown up the rhydonium to protect his face? Din wasn’t that foolish. He’d made his choice. He’d prioritized one part of his creed over another, and he didn’t regret it. It was...unfortunate that his face was in an imperial database. And it was maddening that Gideon had seen him. But it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting Grogu out of this alive. Alive and unmaimed. 

Din finished removing his armor in silence, and Gideon directed him to push it all to the back corner of the cockpit. “When you depart with the child, you may take it all with you. I won’t stop you. I have no need for trophies to mark my triumphs.”

Din was sitting back down in the pilot’s seat in just his flightsuit and helmet when the shuttle came out of hyperspace. Din checked the instrument readings. The Wayland System. Not very populated. He visually scanned the planet out the viewport. It wasn’t the planet that caught his eye but rather what was sitting in its orbit.

No.

Oh no.

Was that…?

_Osik._

Din shoved the throttle forward and slammed the reverse thrusters, bringing the shuttle to an abrupt halt. 

Gideon glared at him. “I would spend less time gawking and more time rushing to the planet’s atmosphere before the tractor beam is activated. Crashing there is your only viable means of escape. Once on the planet, I will allow you and the child to find your own way while I wait for retrieval.” 

Din cursed the fact that Gideon had guessed his plan. But the looming _Star Destroyer_ severely limited his options. Din jerked the steering controls in a hard tilt and increased their speed. Air was coming into his lungs in short bursts, and his adrenaline spiked even higher than before. A kriffing _Star Destroyer._

He urged the shuttle faster towards the lush-looking planet. 

_GRRRRRNNNN._

There was a horrible, screeching of metal. 

The shuttle controls suddenly seized up in Din’s grasp. 

The shuttle lurched into stasis. 

_No, no, no._

“Too late,” Gideon said, stating the obvious.

The shuttle was locked in a tractor beam and was being slowly pulled towards the Imperial battleship.

Din slammed the useless controls and cursed. His hands came up to his helmet and pressed inward in helpless frustration. He shifted around and peered at Grogu, who was still unconscious in the crook of Gideon’s arm. Din’s fate aboard a Star Destroyer at this point was certain in its inevitable end. His actions since taking the bounty on Grogu spoke for themselves. But what would happen to Grogu if Din couldn’t get him out of imperial hands? If they didn’t need any more of his blood, would he be terminated? And if they did want more from him, what kind of horrific torments would the cloning scientists continue to unleash on him? 

Din was certain of only one thing: he’d failed. 

He’d failed to protect his foundling. He’d failed Grogu. 

Angry tears welled up, and he considered making a last ditch attack on Gideon. Maybe Grogu would forgive him if he lost a hand or an ear. Din couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t happen if he lunged at Gideon now. He tensed his body in preparation to act, to do _something._

The barrel of his own blaster pointed as his chest was the last thing he saw before blackness took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Osik = shit / Mando’a


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe it’s the bad company you’ve been keeping. Bo-Katan. Boba Fett. They aren’t really your kind, but maybe you’ve gone agnostic, left the fold, hm? Well, allow me to educate you about the Mandalorians who are not Children of the Watch. They don’t have souls worth safekeeping."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the torture, if you can handle Han’s torture at Cloud City, you can handle this. (It’s the same.)

Din crawled to consciousness through a dim haze. He blinked rapidly to clear the blurriness from his vision, but everything around him remained gray, cold, and imposing. 

He was in a standard imperial holding cell. 

Din forced his thoughts into a semblance of order and tried to assess his situation. He was lying in a fetal position on a metal bench that was connected to the rear cell wall. His wrists were still bound. His clothes were the same, but his boots were missing—and his vibroblade with them. 

Most notably, his helmet was still on. He was stupidly grateful for it, even though he knew it was just another weak spot for the Imps to poke at. Before Morak, he’d have been hoping they’d just shoot him and be done with it, rather than suffering his helmet being forcibly removed. But now...protecting Grogu was more important. Still, the helmet being on made him weirdly uneasy. It gave a false sense of security that he could not trust. Given the usual booking protocols for imperial prisoners, his still having it must have been Gideon’s doing. Which meant Gideon still wanted something from him. What that was, Din couldn’t guess.

Din heard voices approaching.

He pushed himself to sit up, but the movement made his head spin. All he managed was a half-slump against the wall.

The cell doors opened with a hiss and click of metal unlocking.

Two stormtroopers entered, flanking two officers. 

“Bring him,” one of the officers ordered.

Din was yanked up by his elbows and dragged out of the cell and down a long corridor. He tried to find his footing, but the stormtroopers were walking too quickly and his legs were still throbbing with painful pinpricks from having been dumped in the cell in an uncomfortable position for so long. 

The corridor seemed to go on forever. Din was struck by how enormous the ship must be. The largest ship he’d ever been on was a medical frigate that had started out as a simple clinic ship but had been expanded with multiple, mismatched additions as its needs had grown. Din hadn’t been there to receive treatment. He’d been tracking a bail skipper, who’d died as a patient there before Din had found him. The only upside to that failed mission was being able to procure top-grade bacta to stock his own first-aid kit. 

He could use some of that good bacta now. He  _ ached. _

The room he was brought to was small and circular. Red lights behind gray slitted-panels gave the room an eerie glow. Dingy grout cut through the waxy polish of the square tiles on the floor-—a floor he was getting well acquainted with because one of the troopers kept pushing his head down. 

Din was manhandled towards an upright-slab in the middle of the room that had ominous-looking metal clasps and straps. Directly across from it was another slab with pointy spikes sticking out of it that looked like electrical conductors. The whole contraption looked like a coffin from hell. 

But prisoners were tortured for information. What information did Din have? He’d found Grogu, and now they had Grogu. There wasn’t anything left to ask, was there?

The stormtroopers didn’t speak as they strapped him to the device. When it was turned on, he could feel the static charge of the spikes, mere inches from his body. As the slab rotated, he was going to get  _ much, much _ closer. It was going to  _ hurt. _

The slab stopped its rotation when Din was hovering just above the spikes. The heat emanating from them was a physical threat he could feel through his flightsuit. 

“What is Ahsoka Tano planning?   


The question surprised Din. Unfortunately, Din had no idea what Ahsoka was up to. But saying ‘I don’t know’ in these kinds of situations generally led to a slow, agonizing death. And Din wasn’t ready to die yet. 

“I left her on Corvus,” Din volunteered. “She liberated the village of Calodan from Magistrate Elsbeth.”

The officer grunted. “Who was the one to kill Elsbeth? You or her?”

Best to clear this up right away. “Tano. They dueled. The Magistrate lost.”

“You see it happen?”

“No,” Din answered. “Heard it. Across a fortified wall.”

“Did Tano tell you why she was there?” the officer asked.

Din’s neck was strapped to the slab so he couldn’t shake his head. “She told me the Magistrate had taken over the village. That she plundered worlds for resources. From what I saw, Tano was there to free the townspeople.”

Din heard a snort from a different officer outside his limited range of vision. Din’s response had obviously not been well received. They probably thought his answer was naive. Obviously Tano wasn’t just there to help the people. There was something more, something to do with the Magistrate, except that the Magistrate hadn’t been the end goal. Din didn’t know who or what Tano was hunting.

The officer questioning Din continued, “Tell me where she was headed after Corvus.”

Din still didn’t want to admit he didn’t know. Saying so would be as good as asking to be tortured. Instead, he said, “She directed me to Tython, where there was an old Jedi mountain temple.”

“Not you,” the officer said, voice still calm and betraying no impatience with Din’s non-answer. “Her. Where was Tano heading?”

_ Dank farrik.  _ “She must have gotten intel from the Magistrate.”

“He doesn’t know,” an unseen officer groused.

But the lead officer ignored the comment, maintaining his focus on Din again. “Where is Tano now?”

Din’s limbs hung heavy where they were strapped to the slab. He had nothing to bargain with. 

“Tell us Tano’s whereabouts, and this session ends now. We process you, then send you to the mines.”

From the officer’s perspective, it was a generous proposal. No more attention. No torture. Just permanent work detail. A life of hard labor, but a life nonetheless. Din wondered which imperial mining facilities that relied on prison labor were still active, not yet found and destroyed by the New Republic.

Sadly, in a recurring theme, Din knew nothing. “I told you everything I know about Tano.”

The officer looked up enough to reveal his eyes from under his imperial cap. They were brown, like Din’s. Unlike Din’s, they were hard and cruel. “Very well.” He gestured to the stormtroopers on either side of Din, and the slab started rotating Din closer towards the electric spikes. “We’ll find out soon enough if that’s true. Begin.” 

At the first sharp shocks, Din scrunched his eyes. The painful jolts made his entire body jerk against his restraints. But it wasn’t the kind of pain that was going to let you pass out. It was just shy of unbearable. It was  _ nearly _ unbearable. It was the perfect way to hold a detainee in excruciating limbo. As the pain lanced through his body, Din didn’t try to stop himself from crying out.

They interrogated him again and again on the same points. Where was Tano. What did she want. Again and again, Din repeated what he remembered of their brief conversations about the Magistrate. Din knew she was the key. But he hadn’t pried into Tano’s affairs. He knew nothing useful. And he was suffering for it.

An indeterminable time later, Din was finally released. When he was at last unstrapped from the slab, he stumbled, limbs twitching with aftershocks. The Imps let him fall flat on the floor. Only after laughing at him did the stormtroopers haul him up and drag him back to his cell.

They shoved him inside and slammed the door. Din fell to his hands and knees where they’d left him. He considered just passing out there on the floor by the cell door. 

But then he heard a small whimper.

And it didn’t come from him.

Din looked up and gasped. A small form huddled in on itself on the metal bench. 

_ Grogu?! _

Confused and half certain he was hallucinating, Din crawled over to the bench and reached out to place a shaking hand on the familiar brown tunic. “Grogu?”

Grogu shifted from where he’d been facing the wall, and his wide eyes blinked slowly, focusing on Din. He stretched tiny green fingers towards Din’s helmet. 

Din rested his head on the bench under Grogu’s tentative touch. He sighed raggedly, pulse still racing from his trials. “I’m so sorry. So sorry, kid.”

Grogu’s fingers pressed more determinedly against Din’s helmet. He sat up and appeared to be looking Din over. He made a questioning gurgle. 

“Don’t even think about it, pal,” Din wheezed. “I’m hurt, but it’s nothing you can fix. I’ll be okay. Save your strength.” 

He stayed like that, slumped against the bench with his head laying next to Grogu. Din could feel he was on the verge of passing out. He drifted.

Din was alerted back to wakefulness at the feeling of claws digging into his clothes. Grogu was climbing down Din in order to get off the bench. Din figured he wanted to be held, so he cradled Grogu between his knees and chest, curling around him protectively. 

Grogu wiggled in his hold. Din didn’t have the energy to stop him from fussing. Grogu seemed to settle down, one hand splayed over Din’s chest. 

A curious warmth started spreading from where Grogu’s hand touched Din.

“Don’t,” Din protested. It was the worst time for Grogu’s stubborn streak to show. “If you don’t stop that, I’m going to put you down. You can’t exert yourself like this.”

The warmth stopped, and Din sighed in relief as Grogu sagged against him. 

When Gideon had aimed the blaster in his face, Din hadn’t thought he’d ever see Grogu again. He knew Grogu’s presence in his cell was some sort of trap or trick, a carrot on a stick that loomed threateningly over the brief respite. It was suspicious and portended nothing good. 

Din drifted off into a fitful sleep, feeling Grogu’s heartbeat against his chest in a way that he’d never felt through his beskar cuirass. 

**********

Din was startled awake by the cell door being thrown open. 

He tried to shield Grogu with his body. But they were both soon in the clutches of stormtroopers, their wrists in cuffs. 

Din flailed when the troopers handling Grogu veered off in a different direction. “No!’ he shouted, futilely protesting being separated from Grogu again. 

All he received for his outburst was a swift kick in the ribs. It hurt, but he didn’t hear the telltale crack of bone. The stormtroopers then put some kind of cloth bag over his helmet. It was thick enough that he couldn’t see, but he could still hear. 

Din was marched further into the bowels of the ship, through multiple turbolifts and down a maze of corridors. 

Din was suddenly pushed unceremoniously onto the deck. One of the stormtroopers kicked him, and Din’s breath was pushed out of him at the impact. Without the protection of beskar, Din felt the full brunt of it and knew it would bruise, just like his ribs from earlier. 

“Not so tough with the armor, is he.”

“You should have seen what we did to the ones we fleshed out of their hidey hole on Nevarro.”

“Even a body in beskar can burn.”

The stormtroopers laughed. Din said nothing and didn’t move, but he seethed internally. The group of stormtroopers who’d brought him here evidently had time to kill to be mouthing off like this on duty.

“Why does this one still have the helmet?” asked a stormtrooper who sounded like he was in close proximity. Din braced himself when he felt a hard tap on his helmet through the cloth covering it. “I’ve always wanted one of those buckets.”

“Leave it. Your head is already thick enough.”

“Cuz I’m stupid? How original.”

“Don’t need to be clever to get one over you.”

Hands tugged at Din, and he struggled ineffectually as the stormtroopers trussed him up further until his cuffed hands were tied to his body, and his ankles were similarly bound. 

“I’m smarter than this Mando who got himself caught  _ alive.” _

“Not for much longer, I imagine. Then, that helmet will be up for grabs.”

“It could be a while. The Moff is running some kind of gambit with him. Something to do with the asset.”

“Have you seen it? It looks like an ugly geen rat. It even has claws. I bet it has rabies.”

“Nasty.”

“None of you are gonna get that helmet. If you’d been stationed here as long as I have, you’d know that.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“Mark my words. When they do terminate him, your grubby hands won’t get close enough to get even a smudge on that visor.”

“Hm. Whatever.” 

“Shut up, they’re close. Straighten up.”

New footsteps signaled the sound of people approaching. Din listened as the troopers acknowledged the newcomers then shuffled out of the room. It sounded like all of the troopers left, but he couldn’t be sure. 

From where he lay on the deck, still tied up and unable to see, Din heard a new voice speak. The tone was crisp and commanding. 

“If you have led her to me here, I warn you I will--”

“You’ll what? You don’t have the authority to--”

“I have  _ every _ authority. I outrank you by every measure.”

Din recognized the second voice as Gideon’s. Both men’s words were argumentative, but neither raised their volume or hurried the cadence. Their chilling restraint made the exchange seem even more sinister. 

“Just because you’ve declared yourself Grand Admiral doesn’t mean I recognize your claim to that position. Even if it’s true, the ISB operates outside the system. _ I _ operate  _ above  _ the system.” 

“Your invaluable services are now mine to command.” 

“I will work with you, but I will not take orders from you.”

“We shall see. In the meantime, your Mandalorian captive has proved useless to me. I’m ordering his immediate termination.”

_ Osik. _ Din wasn’t surprised. But seeing Grogu again had renewed his will to get through this alive. Grogu needed him.

“He’s not useless to  _ me. _ The asset needs to be managed, especially with those  _ things _ on board--”

“The asset is mine now. And I have plans for it. I need a test subject to determine the range of those  _ things.” _

“Your work is mere theory. The cloning project takes precedence.”

“But of course. Yet there is no reason the projects cannot both proceed in tandem. It would be unfortunate to deprive the Empire of the synergy of our combined goals.”

“On that we can agree.”

“Both prisoners will be remanded to your custody on the condition that you will run your tests  _ and _ mine.”

“Very well. And I presume you’ll want the armor for your...collection, but the blade remains with me. Again.”

“And so the spoils of war be reaped and sown.”

“Ever mindful of the howling abyss.” 

The conversation ended on that strange ritualistic exchange. Din heard footsteps of someone departing. He continued to lie in shock, trying to process everything he’d just heard. Cloning? Some strange  _ things _ they were testing on Grogu? Jedi things? And Din begrudgingly owing his continued existence to Gideon?

Suddenly, the bag was yanked off of Din’s head. Din blinked behind his visor as he took in Gideon’s looming presence. Din surged up to his knees, intending to stand up. But a heavy boot to his neck brought him back down until he lay prostrate on the deck. Din grunted as the boot ground down, putting dangerous pressure on his neck. His thick cowl kept his neck from snapping. If it snapped, he’d be dead. Didn’t the Moff want him alive? 

“Mandalorians who follow your Creed suffer so beautifully in captivity, don’t you think?”

Din closed his eyes, sickened by the casually delivered remark. 

The boot was withdrawn from his neck, but a new threat loomed as Din heard the snap-hiss of the Darksaber. It hummed to life much too close, and his eyes shot open. 

Gideon was circling him like prey. Din spared a glance around the room to glean his surroundings. They were in a conference room with a viewport of space. He could see the ship was still in orbit over Wayland. 

“Taking your armor away serves as good as torture. Take your helmet? Ah, that’s when the reward is truly reaped. That’s when the  _ soul _ leaves your body. That’s what you’re taught, isn’t it? You can see it in your eyes. Hatred at first, leveled back at the one who would strip you of your very soul. And then the realization sinks in, and the hatred gives way to horror. The eyes go blank and broken. At that point, it’s better to put you out of your misery. You become weak, useless things.” 

Gideon did not seem to be speaking in hyperbole, or at least not only so. Din wondered how many Mandalorians had suffered that exact fate at Gideon’s hands.

“But you, Din Djarin, you’ve already lost your soul. And yet you’re still standing.”

Din glared at him from where he lay on the floor.

“Metaphorically, that is. Maybe it’s the bad company you’ve been keeping. Bo-Katan. Boba Fett. They aren’t really your kind, but maybe you’ve gone agnostic, left the fold, hm? Well, allow me to educate you about the Mandalorians who are not Children of the Watch. They don’t have souls worth safekeeping.”

Gideon approached and kneeled next to Din. A black-gloved hand snatched at Din’s helmet, tipping it back to reveal Din’s neck and lower jaw. 

Din exhaled sharply.

But then he felt the harsh jab of a hypospray to his neck, and the room went dark again. The last thing he saw was Gideon’s hate-filled eyes reflecting off the blaze of the Darksaber.


End file.
